


Just Another Night In New York City

by Duck_Life



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Concussions, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm and Claire chat while Jessica recovers from some reckless heroics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Night In New York City

Jessica barely makes it in the door of her apartment before she collapses like a sack of potatoes. It’s a lucky thing Malcolm’s there, or she might never have gotten up of the floor. The phrase “a bloody pulp” comes to mind as he hops down to help her up.

“What did you _do_?” he asks, walking her toward her desk. It’s astounding and alarming how much she’s leaning on him. Jessica Jones is usually like a rock. Now she’s like rock candy.

She grins, and her lip is split. “Well, for one thing, I think I got a concussion.”

With some difficulty, he manages to get her seated in her chair. When he takes his hands off of her she has to hang onto the desk to remain steady, so he keeps propping her up. “No, what… what _led_ to the concussion?”

“Violence,” she says, and out of habit, reaches for the whiskey bottle on the desk. He knocks it out of her way. “Hey, no fair.”

“You’re not in your right mind,” he diagnoses, hands and mind flitting. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she says, but she doesn’t fight him as he drags her off the chair and walks her toward the door. It’s panicking him, the idea that she _can’t_ fight him. “I’m fine, Malc. I got in a fight with a guy. He was half lizard. Or maybe both halves were lizard? Everything’s… fuzzy.”

“Okay, we’re going to the hospital,” he says, swinging the door shut behind him and helping her down the hall.

Weakly, she bats at his arms. “Nooo,” Jessica says, dragging her heels on the floor. “No, I don’t want to go to the hospital. I don’t _have_ to go to the hospital. I’m _fine_.”

“You are not fine.”

“Oh yeah?” she says, and holds up her hands. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“You have a concussion.”

“ _You_ have a concussion.” She laughs.

Malcolm can’t help but notice that there’s an erratic trail of blood leading from her apartment to the two of them. Whoever gets paid to clean all the blood out of this damn apartment building needs a raise. “Okay, fine,” he says, sighing. “How about a deal? If you can stand upright for a count of three, no hospital.”

“No hospital,” she says. “Look! Look at me. Standing upright. What number are we on?”

“I haven’t let go of you.”

She scowls. “I know.”

“Ready?” Malcolm says, and he takes his hands off her.

Jessica sways for a second, declares, “One!” and promptly collapses against the wall.

“Okay,” he says, scooping her up again and weaving toward the elevator. “We’re going.”

“Going where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

When he lugs her into the emergency room, a flurry of people in scrubs crowd around. Somehow he feels like it might be in Jess’s best interest to go to, well, a specialist.

“Is Claire Temple working tonight?” he asks. One of the nurses lists off her shift’s time and place and then Malcolm’s off to yet another elevator.

“I’m sleepy,” Jessica says in the silence of the elevator.

“You have to stay awake,” he says, keeping her from falling down.

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” she says, and there’s an edge of anger and of urgency in her voice, surprising for her less-than-coherent state. His stomach sours, and he regrets his phrasing. She’s got scars deeper than the ones she’s almost definitely gained tonight. They both do.

“You’re right,” he tells her, quieter. “You don’t _have_ to do anything. Your choice.”

“Damn right,” she says. The momentary hurt in her voice is gone.

The elevator dings.

“Hey,” Malcolm says, spotting Claire as soon as they’re out on the floor. “I figured you weren’t making house calls anymore and I should probably bring her _here_.”

“Shit,” Claire says, hurrying around the side of the counter to get a closer look at Jessica. “What did she do?”

“Unclear,” he tells her as the two of them help Jessica down the hallway. “I think there might have been a lizard.”

“If I had a nickel for every hero-type who came in here after fighting a lizard,” she grumbles as they get Jess into a room. “Why is that such a popular villain thing anyway? Why not gnomes?”

“Gnomes?”

“Gnome-man! The living gnome. Something like that. That’s scarier than lizards,” Claire says as she shines a pen light in Jessica’s eyes. “Jones, can you talk to me?”

“Do I have to?”

“Good enough,” she mumbles, turning around to face Malcolm. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Uh, she came in like this about twenty minutes ago,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “ _Gnomes_?”

“Gnomes are terrifying,” Claire asserts, and turns around to treat her patient.

Fortunately, there’s no bleeding in her brain. Malcolm’s pretty sure Jess is going to be pissed off about that when she wakes up. _I didn’t even need surgery! What was the point_? She’s a conundrum of a woman.

But then, so is Claire, who grumps about superheroes and their ridiculous risk-taking, how they should stick to using their abilities for normal jobs, how Jess is a reckless idiot, but nevertheless handles Jessica with a gentle touch, caring eyes.

“We can let her sleep for a little bit,” Claire says, offering Malcolm a cup of water. He’s slouched over in the chair beside the cot and she’s leaning against the wall, redoing her ponytail. “We just have to make sure to wake her up in an hour or so.”

“Right,” he says, feeling weighed down. It’s good to get a medical opinion. Hell, it’s good to see Claire. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

“Hey, it’s my job,” she shrugs. “Just like _her_ job is, apparently, getting the shit kicked out of her.”

“She is the best at it,” he says, resigned. Despite the numerous bandaged cuts peppered across her body, Jess at least seems at peace in sleep. “Kind of wish she’d be a little more careful, though.”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Claire says, rolling her eyes. “If I have to hear ‘the city needs me’ _one more time_ …” Her mind flashes to a black mask, a smile, too much blood.

“‘No one can do this but me,’” Malcolm adds, thinking back to some of the lines he’s gotten from Jessica.

“That one’s a classic,” she agrees. “Oh, uh, ‘I have to keep you safe.’”

“God, that one’s so cliché,” he says, sinking into the chair. “It’s like, ‘oh, you shouldn’t be around me, you’re safer somewhere else.’ Like, I think I’m probably safest _near_ the person with super strength, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “So Jess has tried to give you the boot?”

“Yep,” he says, sipping the water. “‘Stop hanging out in my apartment. Stilt Man could attack at any moment!’”

Claire smirks. “Are you sure she’s not just trying to get you to stop raiding her pantry?”

“I don’t raid her pantry,” Malcolm says. “No point. You know what’s in there? Whiskey. And one expired can of corned beef hash.”

“The Jessica Jones diet,” she says. “You could market that. Maybe a whole line of hero diets. The Hulk diet— lots of protein. And steroids.”

“The Iron Man diet— caviar. And, like, fancy shrimp.”

“The Captain America diet,” Claire says. “…Patriotism.”

“Patriotism?”

“I couldn’t think of anything.”

“Chicken and stars soup,” Malcolm suggests. “And that red, white, and blue cake that suburban moms make on the Fourth of July.”

“Love it,” Claire says.

The thought hits Malcolm out of nowhere. _Is this a date_? He’s almost stupid enough to voice the question.

But only almost.

“The Hawkeye diet,” he says, and they pass the time.

 

 


End file.
